*Chapter 3*
Cramping My Style

I took it steady into the lane, quickly returning to TT mode once clear of the corner. The hairpin turn almost caught me out, one moment I'm racing along with some gusto, next the motorbike in front has its brakes on and my brakes are struggling to slow me. Eventually stopping power kicked in and I negotiated the corner safely leaving the wind assisted run in to Forsbach and the finish less than five kilometres away.

Top gear was engaged and the metres whizzed by, I closed up on the Police bike a bit and actually slipstreamed for a few seconds before he clocked me – well a girl has to try. There might not be any proper climbing on this circuit but the slight drag here felt like riding in syrup. The back side of course is that the final couple of K loses a few metres in height, just enough to take the edge off.

The merest twinge of cramp shot through my right leg, not now! I kept pushing, hopefully I can ride through it, why now? If you’ve ever had cramp you know the signs, the muscle lock, the pain, the overriding desire to give in to it, I gritted my teeth and maintained my effort.
I risked a look under my arm as the road bent slightly to the left, the chasers looked to be gaining, my advantage looked less than last time I looked. But there’s the kilo marker, come on Gab, you can do it. Another shot of cramp spasmed through my calf, breaking my pedalling action for a moment, I freewheeled a moment to stretch the leg, seemed to work.

My escort stopped ahead, lights all a flash, I recognised the turn into the finish, not far now. Out of my aero crouch, cover the brakes, use the corner to stretch the leg again and go for it. The Feldstraße straightened out to reveal the finish two hundred away, come on.

The ‘crowd’ shouted encouragement, are they coming up on me? Dare I check? Another shot of cramp made that decision, a quick glance behind revealed they were close but surely not close enough, I mean I've got less than a hundred to go. Fifty, twenty five, my face in a grimace I stopped pedalling, sat up and gave a victory salute.

Shouting behind me suggested the minor placings were being hotly contested, I headed towards the kerb out of the way.

 
"You alright, kiddo?” Dad asked as I collapsed to the ground.
"Cramp,” I managed, my face contorted in a rictus of pain.

He quickly had my leg raised and started massaging the now rigid muscles.

“Alright?” an orange clad paramedic enquired from behind Dad.
“Just a bit of cramp,” Dad replied.
“Let’s get her somewhere a bit better, they’ll want to reopen the road.”

To be honest I couldn’t care less as long as the pain goes away. Dad ceased his rubbing and the medic picked me up.

“I wish all my patients were as light as you,” he grinned down at me as we started the short journey to the ambulance.
I managed a weak smile through my grimace.

 
I was still in my wet togs, albeit under trackies, for the presentation which was moved inside as the rain returned in a more determined effort at ark floating. There isn’t much you can do for cramp, relaxing the muscles reduces the pain but beyond that it’s trying to cover all the bases. So I've been sipping an electrolyte drink, keeping warm and stuffing my face with Angela’s triple choc cake – well okay that last isn’t for the cramp but I felt better for it anyway.

The clapping for Mand’s second place fell away. It had been a close thing, Mand, Düren and Ron were split by a wheel just a couple of seconds behind me.

‘And our winner today, riding for Team Apollinaris, Gabrielle Bond!’

I suffered the indignity of Dad lifting me onto the podium as I accepted the plaudits, admittedly I was still having issues with my leg. It might only be a local race but they were keen to do everything right, the podium, trophies for all three of us and even flowers. Oh there were ‘envelopes’ too, a generous hundred euros in mine for winning and being first girl.

The idea of racing on a girls’ licence hadn’t initially filled me with joy, my last connection to the old me being taken away. But I've gained by it several times now, keen to promote prize equality a lot of events offer girl’s prizes that match the overall and whilst some run the ‘one rider, one prize’ others don’t.

 
"You alright, Gaby?” Fran asked finding me out after all the hullabaloo.
"Er just about.”
"We saw you in the Kranken,” Barb mentioned appearing at her friends elbow.
"Bit of cramp,” I allowed with a shrug.
“I hate that,” Barb advised, "Boys don’t know they’re born.”

What is she on about?

"Er no,” I agreed on principle.
"So you guys at Iserlohn next week?” Fran enthused, "We got in this year.”
“Iserlohn?”
"The National League?” she allowed.
Come to think of it Dad did mention we would be missing one, "Er no, we got an invite to race in England, a three day.”
"Cool!” Barb opined, "Hey, that means we’ve got a chance, Fran.”
"You’ve always got a chance,” I pointed out.
"Not when you guys are racing,” Fran suggested, "But that's cool.”
"Yeah, you guys are an inspiration,” Barb added as I started turning interesting shades of pink.

 
"Get yourself showered, Gab then we’ll go get some food,” Dad suggested as he carried me back to the Hymer.
“I can walk you know.”
"Think of it as Dad’s prerogative.”
"Yes, Dad,” I sighed clambering into the camper.

At least we can have a shower, I wasted no time stripping out of my wet and dirty cycling clobber and luxuriated in the hot needles until a rap on the door hinted I should desist.

"Not fair,” I called through the door.
"You might not want to eat but others do,” Dad advised.
I turned off the water, “Finished.”

I was still in the bedroom dressing when we started our onward journey.

 
"Here, Ron,” I shook the envelope at her.
"What’s this?”
"Take a look,” I suggested sagging back into the sofa. Dad has apparently got us booked in to some place halfway back to Mettmann so we’re currently transiting the Bergisherland.
Ron squinted into the folder before withdrawing the notes, "Thirty euros?”
I shrugged, "Me and Mand both got something.”
"But...”
"Don’t look a gift Bond in the mouth,” Mand put in.
"Gab.”
"Think of it as the team prize,” I suggested.
"Hold on,” Dad suggested from up front. A moment later the Hymer swung violently upward as we entered the first of three steep almost hairpins out of the Dhünntal.

 
We jumped on the E1 for a junction, ten minutes later Dad was parking us up beside a couple of tourist buses at a place called Burg.

"Huh, I can see why we’ve come here,” I snorted.
"Enlighten us,” Mand suggested.
"Down the road,” I pointed.
"Schloss Burg,” Ron supplied peering out of the window.
"Daft name,” Mand opined.
"Bit like that thing in Wales, River Afon translates as river river.”
"Wales?” Ron queried.
"Bit stuck on the side of England,” Mand explained.
"They don’t speak English?”
"Mostly but some of them use Welsh, sounds like someone strangling a Schaf.
”
Mand stifled a laugh.

"What?” Ron asked.
"Erm,” I demurred, "Bit of an English joke, doesn’t translate well.”
"You lot coming?” Angela prompted.

At least the rain has stopped.

 
The restaurant wasn’t actually in the castle rather it was in the complex around the Burg. And the Schloß isn’t one of those ruins that dot the hilltops, according to Dad it’s been extensively renovated, it certainly looks impressive. We were seated at a table in a fully windowed area overlooking what Ron identified as the Wupper.

"This is all a bit posh,” Mand suggested fingering the white table cloth.
"No less than we deserve,” I joshed.
"Says her highness.”
"What’s that supposed to mean?”
"Nothing.”
"Girls,” Dad stated firmly, “play nice, eh?”
"Sorry, Dad.”
"Sorry, Herr Bond.”

A temporary truce.

“Interesting menu,” Ron offered.

And interesting is putting it mildly, wild boar and venison alongside more, er, cosmopolitan offerings and a smattering of more traditional German fare. Everything in the Speissekarte has some sort of twist and I’m not the only one struggling to make a decision. I'm all for trying different stuff but there’s a lot to be said for the old favourites, the schnitzel is served with croquettes so that's exotic right?

 
My Schnitzel Camembert wasn’t quite what I'd been expecting when it turned up, in fact I didn’t quite know what to make of it. I'm not one for all this ‘food as art’ business, as long as it’s eatable that's me, but this, between the squiggles of chocolate sauce and decorative raw vegetables looks, er, interesting. I poked at my food, not sure whether to eat it or frame it.

"What’s that?”
"Er, pear, melon,” I advised before tasting the berries, "cranberries.”
"Weird,” de Vreen stated as she sliced into her venison roulade.
"No kidding.”

Oh well, guess I'm stuck with it. I started into the melted Camembert and pork schnitzel, not necessarily a combination I'd recommend.

 
After eating we had a mooch around the assorted shops, not quite tourist tat, well unless the tourists happen to be particularly well to do.

"Gab,” Ron called across the handicraft store.
"What?” I asked turning my attention from the selection of colourful earrings.
"Baaa!” she waggled a somewhat leggy stuffed sheep at me.
"You should so get that.” I mentioned crossing to join her.
She looked at the tag, "Ten! don’t think so. So what’s with you and Amanda?”

What indeed? Do you know, I'm not really sure myself.

"Time of the month?”
"Come on, Gab, that's a bit low.”
“I really don’t know, boyfriend trouble?”
"She’s got a boyfriend?”
"Well she got well tarted up to go shopping with a ‘friend’ yesterday, you know, heels and stuff.”
"Mum gets dressed up to go shopping,” Ron stated.
"Yeah, but Mand doesn’t,” I pointed out.
"You two coming,” Dad queried from the doorway.
"Er yeah, be right there.”

 
From Burg it’s not a big distance back to Mettmann but it is a bit convoluted, not made any easier by our mode of transport. The twenty or so kilometres took us nearly three quarters of an hour, we got all the way down to Kӧln this morning quicker. Of course we stopped for coffee and lemon torte – no one in their right mind turns down Angela’s baking.

 
Maddy Bell © 18.04.17